Through the Noise and the Spotlight: Finding Our Way Together
Thank you… thank you so much. Standing here tonight, I can’t help but feel grateful—especially for my good friend Lon Hoy. Honestly, I wouldn’t even be here without him. When City Winery called and asked if I could be ready in two weeks, I panicked and called Lon. He just laughed and said, “One or two Zoom rehearsals, we’ll be fine.” That’s Lon—brilliant, calm, and unbelievably talented. He’s a fantastic pianist, a musical director who ran Hairspray on Broadway for over six years. We even did a Broadway show together decades ago… though maybe that’s a story best left untold.
The last time I sang That’s Rock and Roll, written by the great Eric Carmen, I was opening the Grammy Awards. Yeah, that was a night. I like to joke that I was basically Beyoncé—just better looking. We’ll let her husband weigh in on that later.
But it really was a wild night. Exciting, overwhelming, unforgettable. And I didn’t want to experience it alone. So I invited my friend and neighbor Carrie Fisher to be my date. Carrie and I had grown up just a couple of houses apart. She came from show business royalty—Debbie Reynolds and Eddie Fisher were her parents. And me? I had a pretty similar background. Maybe that’s why we clicked. She was sharp, funny, and completely authentic. I adored her.
At the time, she had just starred in a little film called Star Wars. I had the number one record and was on a hit TV show. Together, we were suddenly this “it” couple at the Grammys—cameras flashing, people watching, attention everywhere. It was intense. On the drive home, Carrie turned to me and asked, “How are we going to get through this?”
That question stayed with me.
You see, despite what people might assume, my path wasn’t handed to me. Yes, my family was successful—my father was a Tony Award winner, my mother won an Oscar at 25, and my brother David was one of the biggest pop stars in the world. But back then, that didn’t open doors. It slammed them shut. People told me flat out, “There’s no way you’re going to make it.” Especially not as another Cassidy.
But I’m my mother’s son. Tell me I can’t do something, and I’ll work twice as hard to prove you wrong. That doubt became fuel. I pushed myself, worked relentlessly, and somehow, I made it—Grammy stage, sold-out arenas, all of it.
And yet, even at the peak of it all, something didn’t feel right. Deep down, I knew I wasn’t chasing fame because I wanted it—I was chasing it because I needed to prove something. Once I had, I realized… I didn’t really want that life. I’m actually a pretty shy guy. What I really wanted was to tell stories. To write. I didn’t know how, but I figured I’d learn—read books, teach myself, find another path. And eventually, I did.
But that question Carrie asked me never went away.
Years later, it came back to me, stronger than ever. In a world that often feels chaotic, uncertain, even frightening, I found myself asking the same thing: how do we get through this?
And the answer, I believe, is simple.
We don’t do it alone.
We get through it together.